


mist ake

by Trilies



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Abortion, Body Dysphoria, Discussion of Abortion, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Nonbinary Character, Other, Relationship Discussions, Unplanned Pregnancy, trans headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:38:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9443381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trilies/pseuds/Trilies
Summary: They can handle this. For decades, they've survived the worst: starving in slums, scraping by in street gangs, clawing up a reputation for themself in a dark and bloody underworld that treated no one kindly.Yeah. They can handle this."You sonovabitch, you got me pregnant!"Oh. Well. Fuck.





	

"Now, isn't it a surprise to see you here, Mammon!" Lussuria coos from her desk, and Mammon rolls their eyes as they tug their hood back. "Catch something from the experiments you've been doing?"  
  
"Please. You know I'm more responsible than that." Scowling, Mammon removes their coat with practiced ease. Everyone ends up in the medical wing portion of Varia headquarters eventually. Lussuria's Sun Unit has more of a use than merely assassinating people, although their skill in that area can't be denied. It's much easier for a shadowy organization of mafia assassins to use healthcare they've made _themselves_ than trusting anyone beyond them, even others under the employ of the Vongola.  
  
Lussuria herself doesn't have an actual doctorate, but Mammon isn't sure how much that actually matters. They're already all high ranking members of a mafia organization, after all. Illegally performing medicine is the _least_ damning thing on their collective criminal record.  
  
She twists around in her seat to face Mammon, legs straddling the back of her chair. "So," she says as the illusionist settles on the side of an infirmary bed crossing their legs casually, "why _are_ you here?"  
  
There's no beating around the bush. Mammon sighs. "I think I've caught something while on a mission. I know it's not from _my_ research, but I'm not medically trained enough to say what else it could be."  
  
"So what are the symptoms?"  
  
Good thing the list is short. "I've been feeling more exhausted lately, and I've had to use the restroom more." Rubbing the top of Fantasma's head, the frog having settled in the sheets besides them, Mammon frowns. "I thought it might have been simply a side effect of working too hard, whether accepting jobs or my research. However, even after taking it easy, these feelings haven't eased up at all. If anything, they've gotten _worse_ \- I've started to feel a little dizzy fairly often and ill." Sighing, they lean back. "If it's something serious, I don't want to put it off."  
  
It's reassuring to see that Lussuria is starting to frown a somewhat as well, and she twists in her seat to start rifling through her files on the Varia officers. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
"Over a month, now."  
  
Clicking her tongue as she apparently finds their file, Lussuria flips it open. "Has urinating been painful?"  
  
"No, it's just _plentiful_."  
  
"Vomiting, sore throat, anything else out of the ordinary? Just obligation, you know how it is."  
  
Mammon does, and they won't judge her for trying to do her job correctly. "No, no, no. Just what I've described."  
  
"Well." Lussuria snaps the file shut. "Let's do a basic check up and go from there, shall we?"  
  
All things considered, they suppose they were due for one soon anyway. Mammon deals with it patiently and, for the most part, it's all uneventful. Blood pressure, good. Heart rate, good. Everything is fine up until the last part, where Lussuria pops out a small cup from a cardboard box. Mammon's face contorts as they stick their tongue out.  
  
"Ugh. It's still disgusting no matter how many times you tell me to do it."  
  
They do it anyway. They've done worse things, after all, dirtier things, although most of those are long in the past and attached to names they've long since discarded. It takes a bit, getting their bladder to cooperate, but soon enough they're handing over a capped cup of urine over to Lussuria with a crumpled up mouth and a wrinkled nose. "Enjoy," Mammon says sardonically, rolling their eye when Lussuria winks and blows a kiss.  
  
After that, it's just a waiting game, sprawling along one of the beds as their coworker hums and does one of the many unsanitary aspects of medical work. Mammon doesn't keep track of the time, only that it's long enough that they've started to half doze with Fantasma nestled on their chest and Lussuria wakes them up with a small little whistle. "Oh, right, Mammon! I meant to ask you something." Blinking the bleariness from their eyes, they lazily turn their head to look at her as she goes through a few cabinets looking for something. "I don't suppose you happened to meet a certain _dashing_ hitman while you were out on your mission, did you?" There's a singsong lilt to her voice, all teasing, and Mammon rolls their eyes.  
  
"Your appetite for gossip is ridiculous," they comment idly, Fantasma hopping off so that they can sit up properly. "But I did, actually. I guess he overheard that I'd be in Venezuela from one of Sawada's talks with Xanxus and decided to surprise me."  
  
"Oh _ho_ , how _romantic_."  
  
"Hush, I don't need to hear you go on about that kind of thing again."  
  
"Mm, well, it's not just for fun that I'm asking." Blinking, Mammon is about to ask what she means when Lussuria finally turns away from the cabinets and holds up a simple thin cardboard box.  
  
They freeze completely.  
  
"No," Mammon says, forcing that single word out slowly from between reluctant lips. "It absolutely _can't_ be that." A feeling has sunk down into the pit of their stomach, a twisted den of snakes, old and nostalgic in all the worst ways.  
  
Lussuria can't see that gut lurching feeling, but she's one of the few people in the mess which is the Varia's upper echelon who bothers to pay attention to things like this. Her voice is professional and calm. "It's just to cross out the possibility, Mammon."  
  
Right. Just to cross out a possibility on the list. Mammon tells that to themself, even as they take up an uneasy position besides Lussuria as she pops out a very simple pregnancy test from the box. It doesn't take much, just a slip of it into the cup, and then they both watch and wait.  
  
A pair of pink lines materialize.  
  
Mammon jerks back, lungs suddenly empty of all air. It's like being young again, _truly_ young and stumbling for the first time through a body that was suddenly unfamiliar and bleeding. Back then, they'd been a boy on the streets, ignorant and oblivious to what was happening and why crimson was coating the inside of their thighs. They'd scrubbed every trace of it from their thighs in a panic and, even now, they're amazed that their younger self was able to find an answer that wasn't "I'm literally dying".  
  
But that knowledge of safety hadn't been enough to clear the nausea which had welled in their throat and made their skin itch.  
  
It's the same now. The solution is obvious, right there in front of them, but for a second Mammon feels _overwhelmed_ in how foreign their body suddenly is. Change, distort, draw out their Mist to make their body something else- except their body has _already_ been changed beyond their control, and they're not entirely sure what changing it again might mean.  
  
"Mammon?" They blink. Around them, reality sharpens into focus once again, and there's Lussuria sitting in her seat having turned to face them. Behind darkened glass, concern crinkles her eyes. "Are you alright?"  
  
They're not. "Yeah, I am," they say, hiding that burst of surreality behind shadows and a stiff tone. "So, what do we do to get rid of it?"  
  
Because there's no question about that. The parasite growing in their body was never invited in to start with, and Mammon has no desire to keep it. Why take time off of precious work for the lifelong trial of _parenthood_? It's only recently, after all, that they were able to finally get their bank account back to the place it was (comparing, of course, to economic changes) before they spent all their money on the Varia rings. The idea of losing it all... Eugh.  
  
They don't think about how everything no longer feels right. They _force_ themself not to think about it.  
  
Lussuria's nails tap thoughtfully along her desk, a _click click click_ that no doubt mars outrageously expensive wood. "Well," she starts, "since it looks like you're fairly early on, although I'd have to take some more tests to check, that shouldn't be too hard. But are you sure, about this, Mammon?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"Even without talking to Reborn?"  
  
For the second time in so many minutes, Mammon feels their whole body go still, but this time, at least, it feels like _their_ body. Everything is locked into place, yet at least it's all the places it _should_ be in. "It's my body, so it's not really any of his business," they answer tersely. "If we just get rid of it, then it won't matter."  
  
Lussuria doesn't argue with them. "Of course, darling," she says instead, steadfast and calm as a sturdy force against what feels like a rising hysteria in the back of Mammon's throat. "Still. It might be something to talk about with him. Besides, if you're far along enough to be feeling unwell in certain areas, I'm worried about your hormones. Even perfectly willing abortions that go off without a hitch on the clinical end can still throw everything out of balance, and, well. Best to have someone sturdy with you, hm?"  
  
One, two, three, four- the feel of their nails pressing into their palms and then easing out. "Hormone imbalance, really?" they ask, trying to seem like they're in control.  
  
"Mhm. Oxytocin, and all that." There's something else in that 'all that', but Lussuria keeps quiet about that. "And since I know you don't like to mix business and emotional moments..."  
  
Eurgh. Times like this, they both appreciate and despise Lussuria. Being forced into something- well, not _forced_ , but faced with logic where doing anything else would be obnoxious and idiotic- is something they can't help but bristle at just because dammit! They don't _want_ to talk to anyone about this save Lussuria, least of all Reborn, but... She has a point. If their hormones have a chance of blowing up in their face, they'd prefer it to be in the reassuring surroundings of the safehouse Reborn bought for them a couple of years back instead of having a chance for one of their subordinates or, god _forbid_ , their coworkers to stumble onto them in the midst of an emotional breakdown. Better safe than sorry, right? And so long as they have their phone on them, Squalo won't be able to complain. At least, he won't be able to make a _serious_ complaint.  
  
Anyway... Maybe they should talk to him about it. To let him know, nothing else, because Mammon is already going to stick their foot down on this. They have a lot of things they still haven't told him, and vice versa, but maybe this shouldn't be one of them.  
  
Dragging in a deep breath from between their teeth, Mammon gives a stiff nod. "Alright, I'll call him. Hold on a minute." It doesn't take long to find their coat again, or to tug out their slick phone out from it, but then, with it right in front of their face, Mammon finds themself only able to stare blankly down at it. It hits them, suddenly, that the second they talk to him, they are going to _flip their goddamn shit_. Before they know it, a good few minutes have passed, and Lussuria clears her throat.  
  
"While usually I would say that contacting someone over text about something like this is passé at _best_ , you could always give that a try, you know."  
  
"I know that!" they snap in response, not wanting to admit that panic is overriding all their good common sense. Even as they start to type, their mouth twists unhappily. "Honestly, should just make him come here if text is so passé..."  
  
From the corner of their eye, they watch Lussuria's shoulders rise up in a loose shrug. "If you like. I imagine he'll have plenty of questions to ask me anyway, and it'll be easier to just tell him in person instead of relaying it through you."  
  
That's decided, then. They type the message out quickly, a simple "get to Varia HQ, need to tell you something", and send it off. In only a couple of minutes, a response is lighting up their screen. "Honestly, why is he always this quick," they mutter as their eyes skim over his text. "He said he'll be here early tomorrow morning. I guess he doesn't have any jobs lined up."  
  
"Fortunately, neither do I," Lussuria answers easily, stretching her arms up over her head as she stands up. "Let me know when he arrives then, won't you, Mammon, darling? Until then, just relax. We have all the time in the world to deal with this."  
  
That's easy for _her_ to say. Still, what else is there to do? Feeling a twitch in their veins, they grab their Varia coat again and don't bother changing out of the basic gown Lussuria had given them before. What a fortunate thing that they sometimes hole themself up away in their room for ages, focused on their research about Flames. That means no one thinks anything of it when they do it again this time, or realizes something is strange. Good. Mammon doesn't want this to get out at all, a moment of unexpected weakness and insight into them that they don't want to reveal to anyone else. Yet there's only so much to do as they wait out the passing hours to the next day, and they burn most of it on anxiously counting out their money, making sure that not a coin is out of place whether on their person or through their many varied bank accounts. It's something that keeps them up far into the early morning until they finally drift off into sleep curled up on their bed, waking up only at Fantasma's croaking as she stares at them with their lit-up phone in her mouth.  
  
A text from Reborn is displayed, at least from the parts of the screen Mammon can see that aren't covered by their familiar's maw.  
  
Letting Lussuria know with a quick text- she's not going to be happy rising early although she can't say Mammon didn't warn her yesterday- the illusionist trades out the coat they'd fallen asleep in for a fresh one. Looking at themself in the mirror, hood down, they take a deep breath and look straight into their own glimmering silver eyes.  
  
They can handle this. For decades, they've survived the worst: starving in slums, scraping by in street gangs, clawing up a reputation for themself in a dark and bloody underworld that treated no one kindly.  
  
Yeah. They can handle this.  
  
"Oh, you're not going to escort him in?" Lussuria asks in faint amusement as they stride into medical, not as fancily done up as usual but still, against all odds, done up. Mammon wonders if she took into consideration everything and woke up earlier to prepare.  
  
Feigning idleness with a lethargic handwave, they make their way over to one of the few seats in the place. "He said not to bother. You know what a freak he is- breaking into the headquarters of the deadliest and most skilled assassin organization in the world is his idea of a good time." Lussuria titters into her hand, apparently finding that endearing in some weird way, and Mammon drifts into silence as they wait. It doesn't take long before there's a polite rapping at the door, and Reborn steps in shortly after. Shutting the door behind him, he quirks an eyebrow at Lussuria's presence even as he's tipping his hat to the two of them.  
  
"I didn't waste any time," he said, venturing to a lazy stop a little further into the room as Mammon gets up to their feet to approach him, "so what's so important that I had to be called here?"  
  
Stopping not too far from him, Mammon takes a breath. They've had around half a day, now, to think about this and gather their calm. All they have to do is explain this, and tell him their course of action.  
  
"You sonova _bitch_ , you got me pregnant!"  
  
Oh. Well. Fuck.  
  
They don't even have a second to think more than that because, even _as_ they're thinking it, he's jerking back, his hat lopsided from the force of it- this is a man who they've personally seen go into intense hand-to-hand combat with people and that goddamn fedora has never, _not once_ , budged. Leon is suddenly neon pink, clambering away from the sturdy brim and into the mess that is his master's hair. "What?" Reborn says as the chameleon shifts into an almost offensively bright blue. Mammon would take more pleasure in throwing the smug and self-contained fool that is their lover off, normally; it's hard to manage right now. Instead, they merely cross their arms, shoulders tense, and look away. Immediately, straightening his hat and ignoring how Leon (now in a dashing tiger pattern) wraps around his wrist, Reborn comes closer and leans down with a covert glance at Lussuria. "How long?" he murmurs quietly with practiced secrecy, and raising a hand as if to touch them somewhere before he makes himself stop. For the better- Mammon isn't sure where he was reaching for, but it feels like any touch at all might set them off, a bomb waiting for only a slight jostle to explode.  
  
Another breath. This time, for certain. "We figured it out yesterday. I've only recently started noticing the symptoms, so I can't be that far along."  
  
It's so hard to tell what he's thinking in this moment. That's always been how he's been, they know that, but right now it's especially aggravating when Mammon feels close to bursting themself. At least he seems- troubled? Concerned? Brows drawn together, lips thin, but that could be a dozen different emotions and they have no way of knowing which. "What do you want to do?" he finally asks, offering his hand loosely while Leon becomes salmon pink. After a second, Mammon accepts it.  
  
"I'm getting rid of it, of course," they say, forcing their voice to stay steady with the help of a slight auditory illusion. Mammon watches him, sharp as a snake, for any signs of disapproval. Almost _waiting_ for one.  
  
For the first time himself, in a mirror of what they've done a couple of times now, Reborn takes in a quiet focused breath of his own. "Of course," he says, as if it's a basic fact he just forgot. Some of the spikes that have been growing through Mammon, vicious nerves threatening to take physical form and break through their skin, start to fade. Their breath begins to adjust again. "You're sure, then?"  
  
"I'm sure." Their face contorts in a grimace. "Trust me, I have zero interest in letting some parasite grow inside of me leeching off of my blood." Leaning in closer to him, they narrow their eyes and hiss, "Do you even know the _details_ of pregnancy, all the gory specifics that no commonly sold book on the subject ever details because it would rather gush about the sparkle-washed hollywood story of parent-offspring bonds!?"  
  
"I have a doctorate for medicine, so yes, actually."  
  
"It's _revolting_ ," Mammon continues, ignoring him in favor of ranting some more with particular venom. "Fetuses are monstrous little evolutionary cretins that tear through arterial walls, manipulating the blood of its host in a number of ways and sometimes leaving behind cells of their own which grow and become part of the host in the most invasive dick move imaginable when the whole thing is _already_ invasive. That's not even going into the later semesters of pregnancy, where the changes to the host body become so flagrant that it's practically offensive."  
  
"I think I get the picture." Reborn's voice is back to steady dryness, one hand going up to fix his hat before he, with uncharacteristic hesitation, reaches down to tuck some of their hair behind their ear. "I just wanted to make sure, Mammon." They want to believe that's it, nothing left to talk about, but it doesn't escape their gaze how his own flicks down over their body, and _dammit_ but they hate this. Hate how they can't read his mind during times like this, especially when they know he can figure them out so easily.  
  
There's a conversation waiting there, something Mammon knows they _need_ to talk about, but it's not something they want to talk about _right now_. So they hold their spine up straighter and place their free hand on their hip impudently. Leon, now a softer lavender, has wrapped around their wrist while Fantasma croaks at him from her perch. "It's not like either of us are good for a baby anyway," they say dismissively, with finality. "I mean, the last child that the Varia raised was Bel, and look how he turned out."  
  
His mouth twitches into a smirk even as he's rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't let any hypothetical child of ours deal with the rest of the Varia for extended periods of time. I'm more sensible than that."  
  
"Didn't you used to dress up in more of your dumb costumes when Sawada was a brat and let him hang around people like Hibari Kyoya?"  
  
"Hibari Kyoya was and is not the Varia."  
  
"Only because he hadn't learned the required number of languages at the time, and you know it."  
  
"Moving on," he says simply, becoming a little more somber. "How are you going to do this?" There's a worry at the corner of his mouth, concern in the faint curve of his eyebrows, but Mammon shrugs it off.  
  
"Lussuria will take care of it, of course."  
  
Dubiously, he glances back to the Varia's Sun Guardian and resident medic, who's decided to drape herself in a rather comfy looking floral armchair while they talk things out. "Are you certain she knows what she's doing with something like this?" he asks, not seeming entirely convinced. Mammon rolls their eyes.  
  
"Of course she does, Reborn, and more than a few people in the Sun Unit as well. We're a group of infamous and highly wanted assassins. Keeping _all_ of our medical needs restricted to inside our organization is for the best. Less of a chance any of us will be compromised this way. When it comes to something as.... delicate as this, that goes double." Shifting a little, they add, "It'll be fine. Lussuria! It'll be fine, won't it?"  
  
As both of their attention turns to her, Lussuria glances up. "Hm? Oh, absolutely. We'll have to do an ultrasound to be sure how far along you are, Mammon, along with a couple of other things, but if we're right with our guess, it shouldn't be that difficult at all. Vacuum aspiration would have the highest success rate, of course, and the rate of infection is the lowest of any other procedure of this type." She leans back in her seat with her fingers adjusting her shades. "Of course, we don't even have to go that far if you don't want to, dearest. There's medication you can take, although those come with their own side effects, but it's something we can discuss more indepth later." Peering over the rim of her glasses, Lussuria winks. "So no need to worry, Handsome."  
  
Mammon gestures at her. "See? Like I said. She knows what she's doing."  
  
Reborn doesn't seem completely reassured by that, although, to be fair, he's still hiding everything with his pitch eyes. It makes Mammon want to choke him by his stupid dumb tie, bristling and unhappy about this fact. They're an illusionist; having something be obscured from _them_ is insufferable. As they resist the urge to attempt murder on their lover, he speaks over to Lussuria. "So the side effects are something we need to look out for?"  
  
"Mhm~. For both medications, post-procedure bleeding tends to last longer, and that's not talking about potential other side effects that could simply occur like with any medication. It'd also be nice if there was someone to take note of any hormonal changes in Mammon- sorry, my dear, but we both know that your response to that on your own would be to hole away in a safehouse in another country and refuse to tell anyone anything."  
  
They grumble, but don't deny it.  
  
Ignoring their sulking, Lussuria gets to her feet and sweeps her gaze over the pair of them. "So, are you two all done having your talk, then?"  
  
Subtly, Mammon glances at Reborn from the corner of their eye, trying to read him once again and still to no avail. "Let's just get this over with," they say simply.  
  
And they do.  
  
It really is simple, at the end of the day, and Reborn stays quiet as he lurks around although it never misses Mammon's attention how sometimes his eyes pass over them in a way that's a little- odd. It puts them on edge, even when they allow themself to be whisked away back to the safehouse that functions as both of their home-away-from-HQ. Everything eases back into some semblance of normality with that, Reborn getting to work in the kitchen for the night's dinner. Maybe that was the problem, they muse as they watch him cook with their arms folded along the back of a chair. Reborn is always someone who's _acted_ , doing something or preparing for something so that he wouldn't necessarily have to _re_ act.  
  
No wonder he'd been an awkward secretive asshole after they told him what had happened. Mammon doesn't really let themself feel bad about it. After all, hadn't it been sprung on _them_ , too?  
  
Still... Now, their mind can't help but gnaw at one train of thought in particular, a dog chasing after a car no matter how ill-advised it is. It's as the two of them are at the table, food still steaming hot on the plates which have been set down, that they give a voice to the things in their head. "Did you want a child?"  
  
His body goes still, fork paused where it's almost but not quite breached into the tender skin of the chicken on his plate. "Aren't you already on the first step to aborting it?"  
  
"That's not what I asked." Mammon taps their fork against their own chicken rapidly, an impatient beat to help work out their aggravation so that they don't snap out at him. "Did you want one?"  
  
Taking a look at them right back in return, Reborn must see how stubbornly they've dug their teeth into this subject, and breathes out slowly. "A long time ago, I did," he answers, a quiet tension strung tight through his words. "However, that was a different person with different wants, before I became part of the mafia."  
  
"So you definitely don't want a child at all, then."  
  
"Maybe." He purses his lips. "Are you trying to say you actually _do_ want a child?"  
  
"When Kyoko came to visit Xanxus and handed me the latest addition to the Vongola nest, I panicked and put it in a cage made of Mist flames until Lussuria's nails dried and she could take it off of my hands," they answer bluntly. "If Bel's existence wasn't already an indicator, then _that_ should absolutely be proof that I shouldn't be given the responsibility of making sure a child grows up to be at pretend they can be some vague approximation of well adjusted." A pause. "...Although Bel did manage very well when he had to go undercover in drag that one time..."  
  
"What's your point, Mammon?"  
  
"My point is..." Eugh. They don't want to say it. Yet, unfortunately, they do, because they have a bad habit of being _honest_ , of all things. "We're both going to be thinking about it now, aren't we? It's happened, so it's going to crop up. I mean, can you honestly say, to my face, that there's a zero percent chance you might think about wanting one?"  
  
"Then I'll just visit Tsuna and sate any uncommon parental urges with _his_ children."  
  
"So you can't." That earns them a distinctly annoyed look, but Mammon doesn't care. "Honestly, I don't understand you... You apparently didn't have this problem when you practically adopted Sawada and the Cavallone. Was it because they were inept teenages when you first got your hands on them?"  
  
They're expecting a quip, or a retort, but instead Reborn goes quiet as those dark eyes focus back down at his plate. Falling silent, Mammon waits for a response, picking at their food patiently. "It might be that to some degree," he says after a moment, and they pause with their fork still in their mouth. "Teenagers are leaps and bounds different than a normal infant. Similarily, a tutor and a parent are _also_ different. Even if I _did_ want a child, it wouldn't be fair to them to have a father who couldn't raise them right."  
  
For a second, they can only blink. "How would _you_ not raise anyone right?"  
  
Slowly, he raises an eyebrow and starts to count off the reasons on his fingers. "My job keeps me in entirely different countries fairly frequently. I have never raised a child and knowing the theory of what to do doesn't guarantee raising them well. I'm a hitman."  
  
"Yamamoto Takeshi is one as well," they reply, resting their fork against the plate and their cheek against their knuckle. "Yet he seems to be managing just fine with the hoard they have over there, besides the questionable decision that one time to have his son ride on the back of Alo. Also, I _know_ your bank accounts- you wouldn't _need_ to leave for work." A pause, and they survey him carefully. "Unless you wanted to."  
  
They're not even sure he's heard those last lines, because at that point, he pauses himself. It's not obvious, but they've been with him for years now. Somehow, for all that he's gotten multiple degrees in all varieties of subjects and is clearly brilliant... He hadn't thought about just quitting his job for a while.  
  
Decades of habit really do die hard.  
  
"Even if did take a break from hits," he starts again, like he'd never stopped, "there's still the fact of the matter that children aren't exactly my area of expertise."  
  
"How many offspring is it with Sawada and his lot now?"  
  
"Five."  
  
"Then go learn from _him_ what to do about children." That earns an almost _offended_ glare, and Mammon sniggers into their hand.  
  
"I'm not learning from my _student_."  
  
Snorting, they wave their fork at him. "Then hang around and bother them like you always do. It's not as if Sawada would kick you out, even if you decided to lurk around behind his shoulder 24/7."  
  
"Considering some of the things he and his lovers get up to, I think he would," Reborn says with sly amusement before his stare settles firmly on them. "So. You've interrogated me. Now I think it's more than fair that I get to turn it around back on you: what was _your_ reason for being so adamant about having an abortion?"  
  
"Isn't it obvious? It would have gotten in the way of my work. It'd be _annoying_."  
  
"That, I don't doubt, but..." His eyes go right through them, twirling his fork between his fingers like some people handle knives. "There's something more to it. I know you right back. When you get that worked up, it's not only because of how your bank account might suffer. What is it, Mammon?"  
  
They shove a giant uncut piece of chicken into their mouth.  
  
" _Mammon_." Armies composed entirely of exasperation occupy that single utterance of their name. "Chew your food and then answer, please." They puff their cheeks out and he takes in a deep breath. "Mammon, talk."  
  
Chewing, they give a reluctant swallow, throat aching from it. "It's nothing," they mutter, shifting and wondering if it's worth it to just leave. Would he refuse to let them, or allow them to go? They're not entirely sure which would aggravate them more. After a second, they hiss out a sigh, nails kneading into their palms. "Like I said... the whole thing is _invasive_. Just- changing my body, however it wants-" Letting the fork drop, they flick their hands up in gesture, fingers curling into frustrated claws. " _I_ should be the only one allowed to do that, manipulating however it looks and feels according to what I want. But that sort of thing hasn't been done with a pregnant body before. For all _anyone_ knows, that could damage either the host or the little bit of hellspawn along for the ride. So it's just..." Scowling, able to feel the heat in their throat and along their ears, they let their hand fall to the table. "Staying. Completely like that. No matter what."  
  
Silence falls over their dining room, and the soft shift of cloth as Reborn reaches over to settle his hand besides theirs says everything.  
  
"As I was saying," he continues, like there isn't a soft crackling energy linking their hands together for all they're not touching, something that has nothing to do with Flames, "if neither of us are interested, then there's no need to worry about it. We'll be more careful in the future- no more mistakes."  
  
"Which means I'm fucking _you_ for the next year."  
  
His lips twitch into a faint smile. "You'll hear no complaints from me."  
  
Dinner resumes, the two of them lapsing back into companionable silence, silverware clinking and more and more of their plates seeing the light again. It'd be easy to leave things there, Mammon knows it would be. There's no need to talk about anything else, right? Except they know that's not quite true, so it's after the plates have been put into the dishwasher and Reborn is getting out the dessert that they speak up again. "You should still go kidnap Sawada's kids to spend some time with, for the record." They watch him pause, his back to them. "Just in case you change your mind. I know you're a sucker for being prepared for everything, you freak."  
  
A huffed out laugh, more air than noise. "I do," he agrees, getting back to work and bringing back the bowls. "And what about you?"  
  
Accepting what's offered to them, Mammon purses their lips together. "I'll figure it out. Even if I never want to get pregnant, learning how to deal with this would work to my advantage. I certainly don't _want_ to feel like this." That's the good thing about Lussuria as the medical professional of the Varia. If there's anyone who can understand their issues.... "But there's no need to panic and rush over it. I mean..." And they gesture widely between them, to the entire unspoken decades of bewildering, ridiculous, unbelievable history they share that's spanned decades.  
  
"We have a whole lifetime."

**Author's Note:**

> "James why would you write a fic on *this* subject"
> 
> [shrug noises] 
> 
> It's just one of those things that comes up in shipping conversations with friends, sometimes. Also, honestly, as a nonbinary person myself, I feel like writing about these sort of things in relation to my community is important.


End file.
